


Stasis

by chaineddove



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:46:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaineddove/pseuds/chaineddove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things never change, and Hisoka doesn't like that.  Some things <i>do</i> change, and he isn't sure yet how he feels about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stasis

Hisoka doesn’t like the sakura trees. He says he’s too hot and sits away from the windows in the office, and in his own apartment the curtains are usually drawn. Most people take it at face value — after all, he’s the one who faints so pathetically if the temperature gets uncomfortable — but really he doesn’t mind the sun so much, and the temperature in Meifu’s eternal springtime stays fairly constant, just this side of warm. It isn’t the sun he hides from, but the trees in their endless blooming, weeping petals replaced with more as soon as they fall, fragrant piles of flowers covering the grass in a gentle blanket of pink.

He doesn’t like them partly because they remind him of things that make him hurt inside, but really he doesn’t like them because they never change. They’re static — a perfect, beautiful example of something just on the cusp of maturity that will never reach it. There will always be flowers, but there will never be cherries. He’s like that too — eternally bound to a body not quite adult and not quite child: lanky limbs, thin shoulders, feminine face, unreliably cracking voice. He is awash with scars that will never fade and cursed with a body that will never grow. He is in stasis.

He prefers Tsuzuki’s house to the office, sprawling and old-fashioned, surprisingly neat and sparsely furnished with wood floors and shoji screens and a willow outside the back door, but no sakura. It is always spring here, too, but somehow this tranquil landscape brings him peace. He likes to sit on Tsuzuki’s porch in the twilight and look out into the sky as the sun sets. Tsuzuki inks fuda, sprawled on the floor behind him, and they are quiet, and Hisoka likes that.

Tsuzuki likes the snow. Its touch on his skin is cool and wet and somehow comforting. He likes watching it fall, silent and soothing, and he likes the way the air smells — cold and fresh and slightly crisp. He likes that the trees and flowers can curl up on themselves and sleep away the cold months. Ice crystals sparkle on bare branches, but when spring comes the leaves will grow lush and green once again, and everything will bloom. He likes the thought of it — that something small and fragile can survive against incredible odds and spring back into glorious life from the semblance of death. He wishes it snowed more in Meifu.

He likes the quiet, though many people would laugh to hear it. Sometimes, he needs the silence, and sometimes there are not enough words to express what is inside, so it is better to let the silence do the talking. He likes walking through the snow with Hisoka by his side, small frame hunched against the cold and too proud to take Tsuzuki’s jacket. Snowflakes fall and catch on dark golden hair, and Tsuzuki admires the beauty of the image, an incredible beauty saved from perfection only by the fact that Hisoka genuinely doesn’t know it is there. The beauty exists for itself, and there is spring in his partner’s green eyes, even when the snow is falling. Spring is a joyous, endless opportunity; that is what they have — endless days to slowly find their way to each other. Hisoka doesn’t know it yet, but that’s all right. Someday.

Hisoka is growing accustomed to Tsuzuki’s presence in his life, and he knows his partner well enough now to realize that under the cheerful veneer presented to the world is a shining strength, and a mind full of thoughts that are never shared. Hisoka doesn’t mind; he has his own secrets.

But he likes the quiet afternoons together, no work and no responsibility to make them cross, only the spring sunlight dappled under Tsuzuki’s willow and a blanket of grass softer than moss. Tsuzuki can brew tea, at least, even though he can’t cook anything, and he brings out a tray with teacups and the cake Hisoka bought because he is beginning to feel strange about coming over empty-handed, as though he belongs here, just because. But though Tsuzuki exclaims happily over the cake, in his eyes Hisoka sees that he would belong, even without it. Tsuzuki settles on the porch next to him, smiling as he offers a steaming cup, and as Hisoka reaches out to accept it, without words he feels something shifting.

There is change on the wind. He smiles.


End file.
